


As you’ve always been (Be good to me)

by targaryen_melodrama



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, POV Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: They never ended up here on purpose—they rarely ended up here period. They would usually walk or sit further North, since Prospect Park was already a fifty minute walk from home and the statue was at the Southernmost point, by the lake. Whenever they did though, the mood inevitably turned nostalgic, if not melancholic.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	As you’ve always been (Be good to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friend for looking this over :)

The aluminum statue of a young, de-serumed Steve Rogers looks the same as it always had, glowing mutely under the amber street light, and next to Sam on a cold wooden bench, a not-quite-old Bucky Barnes grumbles good naturedly. 

“No statue of me, but they thought it was necessary to write my full name on that plaque.”

Sam bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s. “The plaque’s almost faded, so you won’t have to worry about that much longer.”

“Yeah, but the only thing readable on there now is ‘Buchanan’.” Bucky sighs, a hair more dramatic than usual. “Haven’t I been put through enough?”

“Want me to call in a favor? I’m sure Bumfuck, Indiana would love to put up a statue of you.”

“I’m good, but thanks for the generous offer.”

Sam pokes his head out of his scarf to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “You’re very welcome.”

Bucky’s name isn’t the only thing that had faded over time. Brooklyn had started looking a little bit more like the one Sam remembered from his childhood, gentrification not stopping so much as plateauing. Life is still expensive as hell—Sam doesn’t think that’ll change in his lifetime, but week by week, the fruits of the labor of various community organizations working to put things back into the hands of the people who’d lived here and had almost been pushed out are becoming more noticeable. 

The statue itself is the last of its kind. Bureaucracy—or poorly disguised surveillance, depending on who you asked—had completely taken over the superhero business a few years ago, trading a life in the public eye with all its advantages and pitfalls for a career in public service and a few discounts at participating restaurants and retailers. Overall, most of them were somewhere between the Incredibles at the height of their superhero fame and the Incredibles at their lowest point, pretending to be a normal family. Things were different for Sam as one of the last superheroes who got his title handed over. That, along with being the first Black person to hold the title Captain America made Sam’s status special, though he still definitely takes advantage of his Panera Bread coupons, especially since he’s still a few years away from their seniors’ discount.

They never ended up here on purpose—they rarely ended up here period. They would usually walk or sit further North, since Prospect Park was already a fifty minute walk from home and the statue was at the Southernmost point, by the lake. Whenever they did though, the mood inevitably turned nostalgic, if not melancholic. 

“I don’t have a statue,” Sam says. He doesn’t _want_ one, but it’s worth pointing out. 

“They renamed West 127th after you, please don’t start.”

“That’s not a statue. And there’s nothing immortalizing my time saving Steve’s ass daily.”

“Natalia would’ve gotten one of those before you, though,” Bucky says as he links his arm in Sam’s. It’s not as windy as it was earlier, but the Fall early morning cold is starting to creep in. 

“‘Natalia Alianovna Romanova’,” Sam muses. “‘1937-2024. Saved the world countless times, saved Steve Rogers from himself even more times than that’.”

“Better than, ‘sometimes accompanied by friend and brother-in-arms James Buchanan Barnes’.”

“Knowing the people who commission these things, it would probably be 50% shorter and 100% less accurate. Do people who aren’t considered the main characters ever have justice done?”

“They rarely do.”

Yeah, they’d just gone full melancholic.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t know how to succinctly summarize any of my relationships with you all either.”

Bucky frowns. His hair takes on shades of brown it no longer naturally produces under the lamppost’s light, but the animated light in his eyes is organic. “I’m still part of ‘you all’?”

“When it comes to this, definitely. ‘James Buchanan Barnes—yeah, that’s his actual name, don’t ask. 1917-still here. Again, don’t ask. Terrorized his way into my life and somehow stuck by.”

“‘James Buchanan Barnes. 1917-still kicking. Mind your business. Barnes saw that Sam Wilson could use some direction in his life, so he took the wheel.”

“Is that how it went?” Sam asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s how I remember it. Well, my memory isn’t the best, you know, so maybe it was the other way around,” Bucky says with a wry, small smile. “Maybe you’re the one who took me in, stuck by me as I was trying to figure out what direction even was, what life I even wanted.”

“Still not quite right,” Sam says softly. He brings their gloved hands together, watches Bucky’s profile. “Maybe we took each other in, as we were. My memory isn’t what it used to be either, but I don’t remember you ever asking me to be someone I wasn’t. I don’t remember _when_ I made the decision to trust you, but I know I haven’t looked back since. I don’t remember having to ask for your help, to look for you when I needed you. Maybe you were by my side, even at times I didn’t even realize I needed help.”

Bucky’s smile widens, the same wide, gentle, humbled smile he wore on their wedding day. That, Sam hasn’t forgotten. 

Bucky swallows, clears his throat. “Maybe there isn’t someone who deserves it more than you. Maybe I’m just lucky to be the one to be there. Maybe—maybe there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.”

Sam has to swallow before he speaks, too. “Even in 23-degree weather, in the middle of the night, looking at statues of our dead friends?”

“Especially then.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, and except for the distant sounds of the city around them, the world is quiet too. Sam doesn’t want to break the spell, but he knows they’ll have to leave soon, to catch a few hours of sleep before visiting Sam’s mom and checking in with her nurse. Besides, they worked hard on having a decent sleep schedule, and it’d be a shame to completely mess it up again. 

Bucky’s quiet sigh breaks the silence. Sam thinks he’ll suggest they get going, but Bucky turns to him and says, “It’s probably a good thing we won’t get any statues of us made, then. They’d probably get it all wrong.”

“Definitely. And I don’t think they could fit you properly. A few sentences on a plaque don’t really account for a lifetime, do they?”

Bucky takes one last look at the statue, then leans in and kisses Sam’s forehead. “They rarely do, sweetheart. They rarely do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by the fact that I was wasting so much time thinking about the devotion and trust that makes Sam and Bucky's relationship so special and the fact that I read [Flowermasters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters)' [the land is dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608839) for the tenth time this morning.
> 
> Title from Be by Hozier.
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com)!


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